Through Stained Glass: Choosing to Encounter Others

Grammatical Caveat: Because sermons are meant to be preached and are therefore prepared with the emphasis on verbal presentation (i.e., are written for the ear), the written accounts occasionally deviate from proper and generally accepted principles of grammar and punctuation. Most often, these deviations are not mistakes per se, but are indicative of an attempt to aid the listener in the delivery of the sermon.

Choosing to Encounter God in Others

John 4.5-42

March 15, 2020

Not knowing what will happen can do that, though, right? The fear of the unknown can be debilitating. It can prevent us from trying new things or experiencing life in different ways. The fear of the unknown is reasonable, it is a part of our humanity. It is also a part of the story of God. There is the unknown of Adam and Eve leaving the garden. How about Abram and Sarai embarking on a journey based solely on God's promise of a blessing? Then there's Joseph's family during the droughts; Pharaoh's daughter who saved a Hebrew baby from the reeds; the Israelite people in their Exodus; the times when God's people were in exile; Jesus in the wilderness; Mary and Martha when Lazarus died; and of course, the disciples waiting after Christ's crucifixion. These are but a few moments in the narrative of salvation, where God's people go face to face with the unknown. 

Throughout it all, God remains faithful to God's promises. In every season of life, God is with us. All of us. The entire human family. Always. Forever. Because God knows the human experience. God knows the importance of community. To care for one another is at the heart of what it means to be God's people. At the heart of the Torah is the mandate to care for the stranger. The commandment Jesus gives to the disciples is that they love one another. Caring for each other is what we as God's people are to do. To care for one another requires us to encounter each other, which can be scary.

Take, for instance, the Gospel lesson for today. We encounter Jesus and a Samaritan woman at Jacob's well. It is a story about an encounter between two people from two different places in life. It is an encounter that not only the woman wasn't expecting, but neither are the readers. At the well, Jesus encounters a Samaritan woman and breaks gender, ethnic boundaries. Did you know that Jesus didn't need to go through Sychar to get to where he was going? It is true. Many Jews would have taken a longer, more out of the way route across the Jordan to avoid Samaria with whose residents they have deep-seated hatred from the divided monarchy. As many theologians note, Jesus didn't need to go through Samaria geographically. Still, he did theologically because God so loved the world, and Samaritans are a part of that world that God loves.[1] The encounter between Jesus and the woman at the well, who unfortunately remains nameless, we are gifted with why it is essential to risk getting to know others.

The encounter begins at the level of human needs. Jesus is thirsty, admitting his weariness asks the woman for a drink of water from the well. "Give me drink," is what Jesus says in verse 7. The woman responds with her question of "How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan, for a drink?" What is unknown to us are the tones from Jesus, and the woman conveyed in the Greek. Both authoritative because of the longstanding division between their kin-people. His response takes this unordinary conversation and moves it into deeper theological water. "If you knew the gift of God and who is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." Jesus is speaking metaphorically here, indicating that the water he provides continually springs up from the limitless generosity of God. My favorite part of this story is her response, right? So honest, perhaps naïve, but very much so challenging. "Sir, you do not even have a bucket, and the cistern is deep; where then can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this cistern and drank from it himself with his children and his flocks?" The woman flat out asks Jesus who he thinks he is!

The encounter goes deeper yet. Jesus responds indirectly, inviting the woman to think contemplatively about the living water he can provide her. "Give me this water," she replies, and I like to think she does so with an eye roll or a chuckle—perhaps hoping to deflect any more conversation. It doesn't work, and Jesus gets personal. "Go call your husband," he says, and the waters suddenly become choppier. She admits she has no husband; Jesus says he knows. Without shaming her, he speaks of her history of unhappy marriages, to which she recognizes something more about Jesus. She realizes that Jesus is the Messiah, the one we call Christ. In verse 26, we have Jesus declaring his first "I am" statement—which is the same name of God revealed to Moses in Exodus 3. 

The close encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman leads to the delivery of the good news of the next step in God's salvation to the woman's kin-people. From the water's deep source within her, she draws life and gives testimony to Jesus Christ. In his humanity, Jesus encountered a woman who was very much so like you and me, and as a result, she meets God. The same is possible for us when we risk setting aside those barriers we place between us and our neighbor, us, and God. If church and my faith have taught me anything, it is that encountering another human being is as close to God as I may ever get—in the eye-to-eye thing, the person to person thing—which is where God's beloved has promised to show up.

Friends, we are called to see not ourselves in others, but the very person with whom we share life. In the encounter of Jesus and the woman at the well, the meaning of community unfolds.  As Barbara Brown Taylor says, life together is about seeing the person standing right in front of us. Encountering others is about recognizing the other has no substitute, who is irreplaceable, whose heart holds things for which there is no language, whose life is an unsolved mystery. Once we begin to turn the person into a character in my own story, the encounter is over.[2] In choosing to encounter others, we are choosing to meet the Triune God, who exists as a community.

Loving each other can be difficult. It is difficult who am I kidding. Yet, this is our calling. It is scary, and there is nothing more terrifying than risking vulnerability in relationships. In choosing to encounter others, I find these words from Thomas Merton helpful. The prolific writer and monk said, "The beginning of love is the will to let those we love to be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our image. If in loving them, we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them."

Jesus could have avoided Samaria, but he didn’t. And thanks be to God that he didn’t because if he did, we wouldn’t know the full depth of God’s love for the world.

Beloved friends, remember that when we meet one another and worship God together, with openness and vulnerability, as our true selves, our lives will be transformed just as surely as meeting Jesus transforms the life of that solitary but spirited woman by the well.

And this is a close encounter I’m not afraid of!

---

[1] Lewis, Karoline. “Commentary on John 4:5-42 by Karoline Lewis.” John 4:5-42 Commentary by Karoline Lewis - Working Preacher - Preaching This Week (RCL). Accessed March 10, 2020. https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=44.

[2] Barbara Brown Taylor, “An Altar in the World." (Harper One: New York, 2009)Page 102.

Through Stained Glass: Guest Post on Getting Lost

Today's midweek reflection is by First Presbyterian Church member, mother, writer, poet, photographer, adventurer, and whimsical warrior, Kelli Owens. Today's words are inspired by the lessons from the first Sunday of Lent. You can check out more of Kelli's writing at her blog, Chronicles of Grace, by clicking here.

Photo captured by Kelli Owens. 

 If you know me at all, you know I adore being in the woods. Especially in the between seasons like this one, where fresh spring promise fills my lungs with all that is alive while my eyes probe eagerly for the first peeps of green. Winter’s final hurrah clings to chunks of frozen creek while geese return in astounding numbers, attuned to inner clocks. It’s a liminal space. The tension of opposites.

It’s also the perfect time of year to get lost. Well-worn paths and marked trails no longer stand out in their usual stark contrast to summery overgrowth. My boots follow deer tracks and sidestep fallen trees rather than limit themselves by the obviously easy manicured walkway. Even in familiar places, I turn a corner and am suddenly surprised at the face that returns my gaze: the woods I thought I knew, now inside out.

And the thrill of discovery is balanced (if not enhanced) by more than a pinch of anxiety. Will I find my way back without the comfort of known markers? Will I be faced with the prospect of an impossible passage and be forced to do the unthinkable: turn around and retrace my steps? Was that snapping twig just a squirrel or the formidable angry buck whose space I inhabit? What I run into by wandering the woods is more than my love of adventure; I also must confront the less comfortable feelings that accompany the experience of being lost. This is as good a place as any to be honest. Getting lost is, at its roots, a firsthand exercise in relating to the unknown.

If a spiritual practice is, as Barbara Brown Taylor suggests, “anything … you let bring you to your knees and show you what is real, including who you really are, who other people are, and how near God can be,” then perhaps getting lost is medicinal to the soul. Anyone who has lived for any length of time knows there are many real moments of the unknown in even the most average and pedestrian life. Everything from aging to parenting, from calamities to celebrations, we live in a world rife with the unforeseen. There are times when these moments excite and times when they frighten and times when the tension of opposites brings you alive in more ways than you know how to say. Perhaps getting lost with some intentionality is not a bad way to grow accustomed to it. Perhaps in doing so, what we think we know turns inside out and we realize how even uncertainties wear the very face of God. I wonder if this is what it means to be both lost and found.

Through Stained Glass: A Sermon for the 1st Sunday of Lent

"Over the years, I have come to realize that the greatest trap in our life is not success, popularity, or power, but self-rejection....When we have come to believe in the voices that call us worthless and unlovable, then success, popularity, and power are easily perceived as attractive solutions....Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the 'Beloved.' Being the Beloved constitutes the core truth of our existence." Henri Nouwen

“Choosing to Get Lost”

Matthew 4.1-11

Sunday, March 1, 2020

If there ever were a season to get lost, Lent is the one. After all, this is the season when we intentionally examine our lives and seek out the ways we have wandered away from God. By no means does this mean Lent is a season of condemnation. Instead, it is a season when we can be honest with God, with each other, and with ourselves. It is a time when, with the terror of judgment removed, we can speak the truth. Lent, then, is a season of deliverance. A time when we can deepen our desire to accept the good news and the new life that God gives us in Christ. Arriving at this place of discovery and choice is going to take time and an intentional effort to get lost.

Take a moment and consider the times you have experienced lostness. How did you respond to whatever you lost? Growing up, some of us remember road trips that involved pulling off to the side of the road and our parents unfolding a map the size of a dashboard to figure out just how we got into this 'National Lampoon' mess of a road trip. Before there was Siri, there was the walk of shame parents made from the car to the gas station clerk to ask for directions. What about luggage? I think anyone who has traveled by plane has had that dreadful moment of waiting at the baggage claim only never to see your bright orange suitcase—which you got so you wouldn't lose it—and the airline informs you they aren't sure where your bag went. Before 5G networks were a thing, but also some places still on the Middletown Blacktop, we tell the folks we are on the phone with, hands-free of course, that we might lose them here in a minute. We know the feeling of panic when we lose a family heirloom; the sense of heartache when we see a 'lost dog or cat poster'; and because we are human, we are all too familiar with the feeling we get when we have lost someone to cancer, depression, or death.

            Being lost is a part of our story. And at the risk of driving the point into the ground, I wanted to make sure we realized that though we may have lost something in life, we are still here. What we lost may have caused a lot of pain, a lot of problems, and maybe even a lot of trouble, and we might still be feeling the effects of our lostness, we are a resilient people and what we have lost, whether we found it or not, has only made us stronger. Getting lost isn’t such a bad thing, especially when we know we have a way back to the light.

        While Jesus didn't get lost per se in the wilderness, I believe he took a route that wasn't the shortest distance between point A and point B. The time Jesus spent in the wilderness was vital to his ministry…and to his identity. The desert scene presents the Tempter testing Jesus's fidelity to his integrity and his faithfulness to God. While the tempter (the actual name for Satan) distorts and misuses the Scriptures, Jesus is shown to be the one who listens to God's teachings and fully embodies them in his own life. Jesus does not overreach his role as "the Beloved," misuse his power or allow his liberty to become his license. Jesus's power and freedom do not become self-serving but are in service to his calling. 

            The first Sunday of Lent always has us reading the temptation of Christ in the wilderness. It is placed at the beginning of our journey to encourage us to enter into those wild places of our lives and see what tempts us from abandoning the love and light of God. Perhaps you are thinking, "Why do we have to go out into the wilderness to do this work? Why can't we do this from the comfort of our sanctuary? I bet we could find an app to help us on this journey." Probably so, and we can do the work from the comfort of our safe places. However, there is wisdom in the wilderness that the convenience of our church can't provide. Consider the fact that it is the Spirit that drives Jesus into the wilderness. Jesus doesn’t meander out there on his own. He doesn’t schedule a National Geographic expedition, or a marathon in the desert to rack up Fitbit steps. According to Matthew’s Gospel, the Spirit leads Jesus into the wilderness, specifically “to be tempted by the devil.” Jesus, like those in the flood story, Moses’ sojourn at Sinai, Elijah’s journey to Mount Horeb, and Jonah’s call to Nineveh, discovers in the wilderness how even in the most desolate of places, God can bring redemption.

       Let's be honest for a moment, shall we? Who wants to do that? Who wants to take the long route, risking punctuality and safety, for the sake of discovering our truth? Who wants to head out into the wilderness of life—where we must confront our false self, sit with our weaknesses, and where we are the most vulnerable? And yet, this is what we are to do in this season. Here is where we must return to God and allow the Spirit to guide us to our truths. If Jesus's forty days in the wilderness is a time of self-exploration, a time for Jesus to choose who he is and how he will live out his calling, then consider carefully what the Son of God chooses: deprivation over ease. Vulnerability over rescue. Obscurity over honor. Instead, when Jesus could choose certainty, the extraordinary, and the miraculous, Jesus chooses the precarious, the quiet, and the mundane. In the wilderness Jesus shows us how in getting lost, or abandoning the easiest route, we will find ourselves face to face with whatever it is that prevents us from loving God with our whole heart, mind, soul, and strength.

            Earlier I mentioned some benign forms of getting lost. I did this because it gives us a launching pad into contemplating how getting lost or losing something impacts us. It was a chance to see how, on some small scale, we know how to traverse the wilderness when we are lost. Sometimes our lostness in the wilderness is as trivial as a misplaced bag or a wrong turn. Other times we get lost in the deserts of a "hospital waiting room, a toxic relationship, a troubled child, a sudden death, or an unshakeable depression. Wherever we find ourselves lost, we don't (for the most part) volunteer for pain, loss, anger, or terror." But the wilderness still happens. The truth is, we are here today—proof that we made it out or are currently making our way through the wildness of life.

 Getting lost is a valuable experience. Of course, it is only valuable when you have support or the assurance of getting found. I feel I must make a caveat that I'm not suggesting you put yourself in harm’s way or great danger in your attempt to get lost to discover God. What I am challenging you to do this coming week is take a safe, calculated risk, and get lost. Resist the message put on us by modern culture that getting to point a to point b is the best option. Instead, take time to explore the wild places in your life. Get off the beaten path and wrestle with the temptations in your life. Don’t be afraid to follow Jesus into the wilderness and lose your bearings for a moment. Because the unnerving fact is this: we can be beloved and uncomfortable at the same time. We can be beloved and unsafe at the same time.  Barbara Brown Taylor offers this wisdom about this journey, "In the wilderness, the love that survives is tough, not soft.  Salvific, not sentimental."  Learning to trust it takes time. And remember, not only do you have the church as your safety net, but you have the same Spirit waiting on you that waited on Jesus in his discovery of his truth.

            So.  What does Jesus’s temptation story offer to us as we begin our Lenten journeys this year? It gives us a chance to take a different route to deepen our relationship with God, our neighbors, and ourselves. Maybe it is inviting us to intentionally enter the wilderness and confront our demons: pride, arrogance, resentment, or despair. Maybe our Lenten journey means we finally decide who we are and whose we are.

            Let us not be afraid to get lost. Let us have courage in wrestling with the temptations we face. And let us remember that as we embrace our humanity, the Spirit of God will be with us and is preparing us for when we get lost. May it be so.

Through Stained Glass: From Epiphany Light to Lent Darkness

“I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again so that there is really only one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.” ~Barbara Brown Taylor

During worship since Epiphany Sunday, we have read stories of Jesus calling and teaching his disciples about what it means to be a disciple of Jesus.

Here are a few highlights from our last month and a half together:

·      And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."

·      He said to them, "Come and see."

·      And he said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people."

·      Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying: "Blessed are…”

·      “You are the salt of the earth… "You are the light of the world.”

·      “You have heard that it was said…But I say to you…”

The central theme of epiphany is— Jesus as the light of the world, revealed to all nations, including all God’s people. To make this manifestation known, Jesus needs disciples to help him proclaim the Reign of God to the world. The season comes to an end with the Transfiguration, when we are called to respond to Christ in faith through the showings of Christ’s divinity recorded in the gospels of the Epiphany season.

As we prepare to enter into the darkness of Lent, the gospels remind us of our call to be salt and light. These elements are at the core of Jesus’s ministry and our mission.

With the light outside lingering longer, Lent summons us to participate in the challenging but life-giving work of cultivating the light within as we walk 40 days with Christ into those wild and often dark places of our lives. I love what Joan Chittister says about our Lenten journey. She says:

Lent is the opportunity to change what we ought to change but have not…Lent is about becoming, doing and changing whatever it is that is blocking the fullness of life in us right now… Lent is a summons to live anew…Lent is the time to let life in again, to rebuild the worlds we’ve allowed to go sterile, to “fast and weep and mourn” for the goods we’ve foregone. If our own lives are not to die from lack of nourishment, we must sacrifice the pride or the sloth or the listlessness that blocks us from beginning again. Then, as Joel (2:12-18) promises, God will have pity on us and pour into our hearts the life we know down deep that we are lacking.

Lent is the time we reflect on the ways our salt has lost flavor and to take note of our dimming candlelight. One practice I plan to take on during Lent is to keep my Star Word in front of me. The light from my star will remind me that God has not only gifted me freedom but to live free from the expectations culture places on me.

What was your Star Word? How will it guide you this Lenten season?

I believe the Epiphany light can help us transition into Lent by illuminating our paths as we journey to become what God longs for us to be.

The artwork of our Epiphany words created by students from
The Center for Creativity & Community inspires us as we enter
the next 44 days of wilderness wanderings with Christ. If you would
like to add your star, you still can! 

Through Stained Glass: Wondering about Tecumseh

“Come. Sit down. Let’s argue this out.”
    This is God’s Message:
“If your sins are blood-red,
    they’ll be snow-white.
If they’re red like crimson,
    they’ll be like wool.
If you’ll willingly obey,
    you’ll feast like kings.
But if you’re willful and stubborn,
    you’ll die like dogs.”
That’s right. God says so.
~Isaiah 1.18-20, The Message

I wonder what he is thinking.

What do you think about when the snow is falling?

It probably depends where you are, right?

In the comfort of your home, maybe you think about the feeling of warmth you feel as you sit on your couch.

In the office or in the classroom, maybe you think about what the roads will be like when you clock out.

In your car maybe you have no time to think about anything other than arriving safely to your next destination.

Here is a silly confession: the snowflakes of winter are as mesmerizing as the lightning bugs of summer. I could sit and watch them dance all day and night. I find comfort in their gentle descent from heaven, and peace comes to me as they cover my tired backyard (I’m talking about the snow here). It seems as if snow makes the world softer, which I could use right about now. It makes me want to be a kid again—to run outside and make snow angels. To feel my cheeks turn red, and my fingers tingle. One of the best parts about playing in the snow as a boy was knowing my mom would have a cup of hot cocoa waiting for me when I returned home.

Gentleness. 

Softness. 

Home.

I use these words not only used to describe what I’m watching outside my window, but also to describe how I have come to know God’s presence. Of course, this isn’t always the case. Sometimes it feels hard, grimy, and distant. Somedays faith is Easter Sunday, and some seasons, it is every bit Good Friday.

Still, no matter what kind of isolation or desperate season we may be in, the snow reminds me of how God’s forgiveness and mercy are available…if we want it.

Tecumseh’s moment of contemplation lasted as long as a single flickering of a firefly’s light. As soon as I took the photo, he was off digging in the garden, throwing mud in every direction. His clean coat of fur quickly became muddy. Another reminder of how fast I tend to forget God’s call to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God.

In the end, as I watch the snow accumulate and Tecumseh roll around in the snow, making his dirty coat white again, I wonder about God remains faithful to God’s people, even in the face of repeated rejection by them.

I wonder what you think about God’s commitment to you…no matter what.

I wonder what you think about the idea that God waits for you with a warm cup of cocoa, just waiting to warm you up with Her love. 

Through Stained Glass: Free-Star Word

“The child is in me still and sometimes not so still.”
― Fred Rogers

My word never comes easy.

It usually takes a couple days past the Epiphany for me to find mine. Thank goodness I have colleagues who make “star word Sunday” a practice in their communities and their own lives to help me along the way. Usually, I end up where I started, and that is a blog by Rev. Marci Glass, who is the pastor of Southminster Presbyterian Church in Boise, Idaho. She has done this for many years and has numerous posts to help discover what our star words could be. You can get to her website here.

Unlike in years past, my word came quickly to me this year. For whatever reason, the word that kept coming back to me in nearly every component of my life (or the things I’m a part of) was the word free.

Free.

I am free to be me.

To be free to be me means to live from my goodness and belovedness. It means that I don’t have to compete to be something other than myself. I don’t have to twist or contort myself to fit the image of others to be valued and loved. God doesn’t need another Tom Brady, Mother Teresa, or, well, Jesus. God created me to be me.

For me, that truth is freeing. To be free in Christ means to be live as our True Self and not from the False Self. To be me means to live freely—to leave all that gets in the way of me living as God’s beloved child, Adam.

Already I have had to return to my star word a lot. We are only 19 days into the new year, and I’ve lost sight of my star a few times. Grace abounds, thank goodness, and eventually, I rediscover what it means to be free. Our spiritual journey is one that sends us through the green pastures of spring, moving us alongside those empty creek beds in the deserted places of summer, opening us up to the gentle letting go of autumn, and bringing us to the inevitable silencing stillness of the bleak midwinter—all of which leads to the promised land of what it means to be free in Christ--restoration. The freedom that Christ offers is one of leaving and arriving, dying and living—responding to Christ’s invitation to “come and see.”

In some ways, our spiritual journey is discovering what it means to be free in Christ. Essentially this is what the early desert mothers and fathers were doing when they left everything and went to the desert to free themselves from the expectations of the world to find their freedom in Christ. Unfortunately, not all of us have this kind of freedom. Still, their movement is something we can integrate into our own spiritual disciplines. While we may not be able to take up shop in a small hut somewhere in Kickapoo Park, we can set aside time and space to detach from our egos, personalities, expectations to reconnect with the inner Christ—our True Self.

We have a lot of demands for our attention in our lives. And we know the pressure that comes with these demands. I love what Thomas Merton says about those early Christians in the wilderness as people “who did not believe in letting themselves be passively guided and ruled by a decadent state,” who didn’t wish to be ruled or to rule. Merton says that they primarily sought their “true self, in Christ”; to do so, they had to reject “the false, formal self, fabricated under social compulsion ‘in the world.’ They sought a way to God that was uncharted and freely chosen, not inherited from others who had mapped it out beforehand.” (Thomas Merton, The Wisdom of the Desert (New Directions: 1960), 5-6.}

Free.

I am free to be me.

Who knew that it could be so challenging!?

Friends, I set out to initially to write this post as a reminder to bring back the star with the word you picked written on it to worship this month. The students from The Center for Creativity & Community will create a piece of art with our collective stars to help guide us in the coming year. If you didn’t receive one or maybe lost yours, we have plenty in the office at church. Just ask me, and I will get you one.

If you need help finding a word, I’ll be happy to help. Or, visit the link above and see what others have chosen in the past.

We are an Epiphany people—a light revealed to the nations and promise that God is leading us to a place of renewal, recreation, and resurrection.

Even if it doesn’t come easy.

Through Stained Glass-Friday Prayer

It is late, and I’m in my study at church.

I’m here listening for words from the Word to preach Sunday.

As I sit in the growing darkness, and between records spinning on my record player, I heard the carillon playing.

It silenced me. It stopped me. It moved me.

The song?

“All Creatures of Our God and King” [I think]

I prayed.

I praised God—thank goodness no one was here to hear me do so.

I lit a candle and thanked God.

I remembered this line as the darkness settles in for the night:

Thou burning sun with golden beam

Thou silver moon with softer gleam

O praise Him, O praise Him

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia

I thanked God for Roger Boss, who keeps the ‘bells’ singing.

I thanked God for the return of the Light.

I thanked God for the gifts of love that surround me, this church and the community.

I looked up the hymn. And these words stuck out:

Thou rising moon in praise rejoice

Ye lights of evening find a voice

O praise Him, O praise Him

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia

I prayed for those of you who are buried in darkness—those of you are grieving the loss of a loved one, those of you who are overwhelmed with all that comes with a start to a new year, and those of you who are anxious, worried, or even scared with all that is happening in the world.

Remember, beloved friends, when you know not what to pray or even how to pray—the Spirit prays on our behalf.

Remember, child of God, when you can’t praise God—your family of faith, prays and sings on your behalf.

And we will until you emerge on the other side.

Which, as improbable as it seems now, you will—with a few bruises and bumps—but you will.

As the darkness gets darker, as Friday grows even later—call creation sings of God’s praises for the way God saves, moves, and loves us.

Even when that love appears absent.

Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son

And praise the Spirit, three in one

O praise Him, O praise Him

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia

The light shines in the darkness. The Word promises us that…